


before the storm

by anddirtyrain



Series: divorce au [1]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/F, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-23
Updated: 2017-09-25
Packaged: 2018-12-19 00:02:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 6,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11885664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anddirtyrain/pseuds/anddirtyrain
Summary: A collection of moments from the Griffin-Woods family, set before the events of 'living on a fault line'.





	1. the first time ever I saw your face

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone! I'm getting around to posting all the divorce au extras I have elsewhere. This one is the first time Clarke asked Lexa out in this verse. Enjoy!

Clarke knew she was done for when she first saw Lexa Woods.

  
It was the tail end of summer, on her Sociology class of all places. She took the class because it was required for everyone, regardless of major, and it was full to bursting with people who were only there to get the credit. Clarke could sympathize. But she also was trying, so she sat up front, intent on actually listening to the professor speak. And then she walked in and Clarke spent the rest of that first class trying not to give Linda Blair a run for her money on the neck department. But could anyone blame her for staring?

  
Clarke had told herself she’d take it easy in the dating front this new academic year.

  
 Her first year of college was filled with more hangovers and sexual partners than she’d care to admit. (Three. More like four. Five, it had been five. And she’d almost failed that one class-)

 

So she told herself she would focus on school. She knew Med school wouldn’t treat her any more kindly, that if anything, things would only get harder from here on out, so she told herself that she’d had her fun, she’d partied, and now she was ready to put her head down and only eat books for the next 3 years.

 

That was shot to hell when she saw Lexa Woods.

  
Clarke was always a sucker for a confident, beautiful woman. Lexa was tall, and lean, and rocked this leather jacket and closed off attitude like it was her job. It intrigued Clarke, made her too damn attracted to the stranger. The last time she was that taken by some random person in one of her classes she almost failed the aforementioned class. She told herself she wouldn’t do it again. The girl was probably straight anyways.

  
Clarke learned her name during roll call that first day.

  
‘Lexa Woods.’

  
‘Is that short for Alexandra?’

  
‘No, it’s just Lexa.’

  
She was hot, quite clearly, and from her participation in class, smart, and Clarke was immediately interested. But she was busy, and needed to study harder, so she let it go. Miraculously, at least 2 weeks went by before class turned to current topics, the professor assumed there was not a single queer person in the classroom, and began discussing LGBT rights. Clarke braced herself for it. She knew someone would say something ignorant, or offensive, or straight up wrong, just as she knew she would be the first one raising her hand to shut them down. 

 

A guy did, but someone beat her to the punch.

  
Lexa dragged the frat-boy to hell and back with a well-placed comment about lesbians in porn and a verbal kick to the guy’s masculinity that had the whole class snickering and even the professor himself turning red, and Clarke was gone. And Lexa, well, from her own words she was ‘one of those gays’, so, not straight. Not straight at all.

  
Clarke couldn’t resist telling her ‘nice work’ at the end of class and winking at her. She turned around before properly appraising her reaction, but her heart beat hard.

  
.

  
Two weeks later, she turned to Lexa when the professor told them to pair up for an assignment.

  
Just a few days into it, she came to know Lexa a bit better. She took of her jacket inside Clarke’s dorm room and she wore the softest looking shirt underneath. She had a dry sort of humor that Clarke adored right away, and she was bright. Clarke had never used that word when describing anyone but Lexa spoke in a way that betrayed just how much went on behind those eyes. She was confident, but not arrogant. Closed off in a way that made Clarke want to find out more. Just proud enough that it made warmth swirl in Clarke’s belly instead of annoyance.

  
Clarke liked her. And not in the way she liked a good looking person from afar in any given class, but truly, actually begun to like Lexa for the girl underneath it all.

  
They turned in their assignment.

  
.

 

A week after that, Clarke saw Lexa at a party.

  
Clarke reasoned that she got good enough grades in all her midterms so it was justified to go out, she deserved it, and she couldn’t say not to Octavia, so there she was. Octavia ditched her for Lincoln, so there she was, _alone_.

  
So was Lexa.

  
She didn’t look awkward, like Clarke would feel if she was alone at a party. She simply sipped her drink and observed everyone else, and Clarke walked up to her and begun talking.

 

Clarke didn’t know if Lexa was more relaxed because of the alcohol or the lack of a school setting, but she was even more _her_ , if that made any sense, and Clarke loved it. Lexa laughed more freely, and Clarke liked making her laugh.

 

She didn’t stop until an hour later, when Octavia told her they were leaving for an after party somewhere else. She invited Lexa along, and she declined. The swooping disappointment in her belly told Clarke all she needed to know.

  
She was never good at keeping promises to herself.

  
.

  
Lexa was committed in class, taking notes when others were speaking, and it didn’t foster a good speaking environment. Clarke tried, of course, but she didn’t want to bother Lexa, so she settled for a wave before class and a ‘bye, Lexa’ afterward that made her feel stupid.

  
She liked her alright.

  
.

  
She saw Lexa at another party, a few weeks later.

  
This time she wasn’t by herself, but speaking to a redhead Clarke didn’t recognize. What she did recognized was the bitter, slithering thing wrapping around her ribs when she looked at them.

  
The girl was tall and slender and everything Clarke wasn’t, and she was jealous. It was a miracle it’d taken this long for her to catch Lexa with someone- even if all they were doing was talking. The girl was clearly interested. Lexa had a lot of friends, though Clarke had yet to see her with the same group more than once, people just seemed to gravitate towards her.

  
Clarke was one of them.

  
So when the redhead stepped away, Clarke stepped in. She almost didn’t recognize herself with how nervous she felt, though she didn’t show it. She wasn’t used to losing her cool over people, even people she was attracted to and very possibly crushing on.

  
Her heart beat faster when Lexa flirted right back.

 

.

 

Clarke wakes up a cloudy morning in the middle of fall, and decides today is the day she’s gonna stop being a coward.

  
She walks into class confident that she’s gonna ask Lexa out, she’s gonna be upfront about it, she’s gonna go right up to her and-  
Lexa is wearing a skirt.

  
There’s nothing special about it, it’s just a simple white skirt, but Clarke had never actually seen her wearing one and god, her legs seem to go on for miles.  
Clarke sits down on her usual seat with a plop.

  
She’s not used to words sticking to the roof of her mouth like candy, but they do right now, and then the professor gets there and her window of opportunity is gone.

  
She doesn’t pay attention to the class, doesn’t take a single note as she gathers her courage all over again.

  
She’s not prepared for the bell to ring, and shatter her focus, and she downright panics when Lexa begins to gather her notebooks. Clarke springs out of her seat.

  
“I didn’t pay attention to the class at all.” The words are out of her mouth in a second, as she stands in front of Lexa’s desk, and it’s not what she had planned at all.

  
“Clarke.” Lexa smiles, and Clarke’s stomach turned over. “So…do you want help with notes, or-”

  
“I didn’t pay attention because I spent the whole time wondering how to ask you out.” Okay, so. Honesty. That’s how she’s doing this apparently.

  
“Oh.”

  
“Yeah.”

  
“So. Did you- Did you figure something out?” Lexa asks.

  
“You were leaving so I panicked and decided making a fool of myself would be the best course of action,” she says, in a single breath. Lexa doesn’t answer for a minute, and Clarke swallows. ”Are you going to tell me how’s that working out for me?”  she asks, insecurity seeping into her voice.

  
“Why don’t you walk me to my next class, I’ll tell you on the way.”


	2. the good fight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set when Charlie is aprox. 6 months old.

“You can’t just give her that.”

  
Lexa watched Clarke walk to the pantry in complete silence, observed her get the box of cookies out without uttering a word, but the second Clarke actually shakes the box in front of their daughter like she's actually thinking of feeding her that, she speaks up.

  
"What?" Clarke asks.

  
 “You can’t just give her that," Lexa repeats.

  
“Lexa, she’s fuzzy, she’s hungry-”

  
Charlie had whined her way through a third of her puree, finally crying and spitting out what little Lexa had managed to get into her mouth, yes, but she just needed to wait a few minutes before trying again.

  
“You’re going to turn her into a picky eater," she tells Clarke

  
"Newsflash, I think she already is," Clarke says, rolling her eyes.

  
"Clarke."

  
"She needs to eat something," Clarke insists, opening the box, and Lexa stands up. Charlie's eyes follow her, the baby calm now that no one is trying to make her eat something healthy.

  
"There’s squash puree," Lexa insists in turn. Charlie's food is right there! They just need to get her to eat it. How can Clarke not see that? They can't just give  Charlie cookies whenever she doesn't want to eat dinner. What kind of precedent is that setting for them?

  
“We don’t want mommy’s squash puree do we?” Clarke asks Charlie on a baby voice she never uses with their daughter.  Lexa feels mocked. “We cried twice already, didn’t we?”

 

“Mature,” Lexa says. “She's a baby, we’re supposed to guide her.”

  
“She doesn’t like it,” Clarke fires back.

  
“She doesn’t know what she likes! She's a baby, our baby, we have to teach her! We try again,” Lexa insists. “It’s healthy!”

  
“Oh God, I married my mother.”

  
“What was that?” Lexa asks.

  
“It’s one night, Lexa,” Clarke pleads instead of answering.

  
“Clarke, I swear to god-”

  
“My dad used to give me stuff I actually wanted to eat for dinner all the time-”

  
“And I've seen pictures of toddler you, you want our daughter to end up like that?” Lexa regrets the words as soon as they're out.

  
“What did you say?” Clarke asks, finally putting down the goddamn box.

  
“I didn't mean it like that…”

  
“Like what, Lexa? You don't want our daughter to be a fat ass like I-”

  
“Jesus, Clarke, you know it’s not healthy.” Lexa threads her fingers through her hair. “She can’t just have goldfish crackers for dinner every time she feels like it.”

  
“It’s. One. Night.”

  
“It’s setting a pattern!” Lexa exclaims, her back filled with tension. She doesn't know when things escalated, maybe somewhere around when Charlie started crying, big fat tears rolling down her cheeks because of course she was hungry, but she didn't want Clarke's breast, and she didn't want Lexa's squash puree (which bears repeating, is healthy) and they've been doing this parenting thing for a few months, and Lexa read all the books, she went to all the appointments, she never thought it'd be this difficult.

  
"You're impossible!" Clarke says, and drops the box on the breakfast island, and somehow...somehow the crackers go flying. A few just manage to land on Charlie’s high chair, and oblivious to her mothers’ fight, the baby grabs one and happily munches on it.

  
Lexa walks out.

 

 

 

 

  
_Coda_

 

  
"I'm sorry."

  
They're laying on the bed, their backs to each other. They put Charlie to bed the quietest Lexa can remember, apart from that one fight brought out of tiredness a few weeks after their daugther was born.

  
"What for?" Lexa asks, hugging her pillow.

  
"Fighting," Clarke says simply.

  
"So you're not sorry about feeding our kid garbage," Lexa mentions, because she can't not do it.

  
"I didn't," Clarke says. "That was an accident."

  
Against her will, Lexa’s mouth quirks into a small amused smile. Charlie munching on crackers that literally fell on her is kind of funny. The smile fades when she sighs.

  
"Clarke, it's unhealthy. And it's like what I say doesnt matter to you."

  
"It was one night, Lexa," Clarke argues. "You're too strict. She’s a baby."

  
"Exactly," Lexa says. "Habits are formed at this age. If we teach her vegetables are good now she’ll believe that the rest of her life. If we let her eat junk food just so she’ll eat something she’ll be unhealthy. Is it really that complicated? Am I that crazy to not want that to happen?"

  
Clarke is quiet for a second.

  
"I just cant bear to see her upset," she says, quieter.

  
Lexa turns around, looks at her wife in the eyes.

  
"I dont like it either," she says.

  
"So? Want me to say you were right?" Clarke asks.

  
"No."

  
"Lexa. You were right, I'm sorry." Clarke scoots up next to her. "Come here."

  
"No. I dont want you to apologize for nothing," Lexa turns around again, feeling miffed without knowing why. "Just don't apologize to me."

 

"Lexa."

  
"Clarke, leave it."

  
"Lexa. Turn around."

  
Lexa thinks about it for a moment,  a second, really, because she's never been able to say no when Clarke uses that voice. She turns around.  
"I'm sorry if it seemed like I didn't care about what you said," Clarke says. "I honestly didnt think it would do any harm to let her have a treat just this once, since she barely ate anything for dinner."

  
Clarke pushes Lexa's hair behind her ear, her thumb rubbing her cheek, and Lexa sighs.

  
"I didn't meant to imply there was something wrong with you or with your dad’s parenting," Lexa says. "I'm sorry." Her lips quirk up in a smile. "And you were really cute as a toddler."

  
Clarke chuckles

  
"I was fat,” she admits. “And I know there’s a difference between having a chubby kid because she loves food, and having a chubby kid because she’s allowed to eat all the junk food and candy in the world. But I wasn't going to make it a habit."

  
"She doesn't know that," Lexa stresses, and Clarke gives in and nods. Lexa sighs. She doesn't like arguing (with Clarke), she never has.  
"Maybe I over reacted," Lexa admits.  "I just want to do this right, Clarke. I need to be a good mom."

  
There's so much to unpack there, Lexa's perennial necessity to be not just good, but outstanding at everything she does, the fear that she's less of a mother because she didn't carry Charlie,  above all, the need for Charlie to grow up and be proud of Lexa. Lexa just wants the best for her little girl.

  
Clarke rubs her arm soothingly, up and down and up again.

  
"You're a great mother, honey," Clarke says, and Lexa smiles, a little watery.

  
"Come here," she says, and then they're hugging in the middle of the bed.

  
"We’ll talk it out next time, okay?" Lexa says, pressing a kiss to her wife's forehead.

 

"Okay," Clarke promises.

  
"I don't like fighting with you."

  
"It wasn't a fight," Clarke says. "We’ll call it an… _escalated disagreement_."

  
Lexa chuckles and shakes her head.

  
 "Still sounds pretty bad."

  
Clarke always makes her laugh. Clarke can annoy her, lift her up, make her silly, make her angry. Clarke loves her, and Lexa is always reminded of that love, regardless of what’s going on. They’ve been together for so long, through so much. It’s unthinkable to be angry at her wife for too long, and finally, the last of her annoyance slips out of her with her laughs and she sinks fully into Clarke’s arms. She knows how lucky she is, that this is as bad as their…’escalated disagreements’ ever get. She knows how lucky she is, to have love, true love, and a baby daughter to show for it.

  
She nuzzles into the soft, sweet-smelling skin on Clarke’s neck.

  
“I love you,” she tells her

  
“I love you too,” Clarke tells her, and Lexa closes her eyes. "Besides, I hardly believe a bowl of squash puree can push us to divorce, do you?

  
Lexa snorts. She falls asleep with a smile on her face.


	3. the photograph

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Charlie's pov, set in the not so distant past, a few months before 'living on a fault line' starts. How Charlie came across one of the pictures she keeps in her bag, which Clarke and Lexa didn't know about.

She sees it on her grandma's shelf, every time she visits.

  
She's asked her grandma to tell her the story behind the picture millions and millions of times, and she never gets tired of hearing it. Her moms don't look that different, but her grandma tells her back then her mama was a different thing at the hospital, a thing she can't pronounce. And her mommy was taking a 'sabbacal year'. Charlie whispers the word to herself. She doesn't know what it means.

  
"A sabbatical, Charlie," her grandma corrects. "It means she was taking some time off work to take care off you."

  
Charlie doesn't remember that, but she wishes she did. It makes her feel all warm and nice inside. Like she just had her favorite chocolate and it's cold outside.

  
She looks at herself in the picture.

  
She doesn't remember being that small, either. It must have been nice. It looks like she could have hidden in her mama's purse before she went to work. She wishes she'd thought of that back then.

  
"Charlie, come on. Dinner is almost ready," her grandma says. Charlie can smell the mac and cheese. "Get Marcus for me, will you?"

  
Charlie nods.

  
It still takes her a minute to put the picture frame down in its place.

 

 

 

 

  
Charlie's not supposed to get out of bed.

  
She knows when her grandma tucks her in she's supposed to stay there. When her mama or her mommy tuck her in, and she wakes up, she goes to their rooms and gets into bed with them, but grandma sleeps next to Marcus, and that would be rude. Her mommy and mama used to sleep next to each other, too. And she would get into bed between them, where it was warm and toasty, and they would give her lots and lots of snuggles. It was Charlie's favorite thing in the world.

  
How things are right now is her worst favorite thing.

  
So how worser could it get if she did what she isn't supposed to?

  
After her grandma tucks her in, she waits. She hears her put Shadow in his crate, and talk to Marcus, and then she waits for ages and ages and then the lights go out. Everything is dark. She tiptoes out of bed, even if a voice in her head is telling her she isn't supposed to.

  
The photograph is there, on the shelf.

  
There are a lot of photographs beside it. A lot of a man Charlie never met, but that everyone tells her was her grandpa. She thinks it's not fair that she gets a grandpa only in pictures.

  
There are a lot of photos of her mama, too,  when she was little, then dressed like a cheerleader, then one with her paper-grandpa next to a swimming pool. There's one of her grandma and Marcus on the corner.

  
And then on the middle of the shelf, he favorite bit of all. There's one of her mama and her mommy where they look very different. Her mama had called it her 'golden college years'. Charlie thinks they just looked happy, not golden. They don't look like that a lot anymore. Not neither of them.

  
Not like they do in the picture with baby-her in it, right next to that one.

  
She likes that she's there, but they look different, at the same time. She has tons of pictures of her birthdays and school and stuff, but those don't look that different from how things are now, and she doesn't like the reminder. But in that picture her mama has long hair, and her mommy has really curly hair, and she is super small, the smallest she's ever been.

  
It's so different.

  
She lets her fingers glide over the glass of the picture frame. There are so many, she doesn't think her grandma will notice if she takes this one, just for a little bit.

  
She carefully puts the frame face-down, and moves the black plastic little things. The back part comes off. She gingerly grabs the photograph and pulls it out, and then puts the frame back together. She hides it beneath the fridge, and hopes her grandma doesn't go looking.

  
She tiptoes back to her room, the photograph held tight in her hand.

  
Charlie thinks maybe she's beginning to understand what her mama meant when she said 'golden years'.

  
Most days things feel dark, and holding the picture feels like a grabbing a little bit of sunshine.


	4. monkey business

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit from Charlie's first Halloween. We saw another moment from this day in divorce au's chapter 3. Enjoy!

“Oh, mommy’s home!” Clarke hikes Charlie higher on her waist, pulling the hood of her onesie over her head. The attached monkey ears flapg back and forth. Charlie giggles. “Shh, mommy’s coming,” Clarke says, and hides behind a doorway. She’s already wearing her costume, a flowing animal print dress (since she hasn’t entirely lost the baby weight yet) and her hair is curled like she’s a reject from an 80’s music video.

Lexa left wearing heels this morning, with this suit jacket and a skirt that was all business in the front but a party on the side (slit). Clarke can hear her shoes now, as her wife walks to the living room.

“Clarke? I’m home.” Clarke watches Lexa look around. “Love?”

“Hah!” She jumps out, and she wishes she’d been filming because Lexa actually jumps. The startle doesn’t last long, though.

“A monkey?” Lexa asks, laughing, as soon as she sets eyes on their daughter. Her arms open to receive Charlie immediately. Clarke passes her over, and Lexa nuzzles the baby’s cheek before dropping a kiss there.

They’d struggled with picking a costume for Charlie, the world of baby outfits large and thriving and kind of overwhelming for two new moms, so finally Lexa had begged Clarke to pick one and gone to work. After all, Clarke had already picked their own matching costumes.

So a monkey it was.  
  
“We’re cave women,” Clarke tells Lexa. “It fits the theme.”  
  
“How?” Lexa asks, laughing when Charlie turns to her mama and one of her monkey ears slaps Lexa.  
  
“It does. I’m the artist here.”  
  
“You’re a doctor.”  
  
“You’ll find I can be a lot of things,” Clarke tells her, leaning forward to kiss her wife. “How was work?”  
  
“Okay. Gustus made us wear witch hats.” Lexa shakes her head. “Children never come to the firm.”  
  
“Maybe he wanted you to have the Halloween spirit,” she teases Lexa, and waves her fingers at Charlie. From Lexa’s shoulder, her daughter gives her a gummy smile. Drool falls on Lexa’s jacket.  
  
“See? Charlie wants you to get changed too.” Clarke takes their daughter back, enough incentive for Lexa to change. “Chop, chop,” she says, sending Lexa to their room with a slap to her butt.  
  
Clarke sits down with Charlie on the living room floor, her quilt spread out beneath them. Clarke still can’t believe her mom went through the trouble of sewing it for her, especially since she’s even busier that Clarke at the hospital, but she’s glad. Between she and Lexa they only come up with one grandparent for Charlie, and although she wishes that Lexa’s parents and her own dad had go gotten to meet their granddaughter, it doesn’t matter.  
  
Charlie’s childhood is going to be as perfect as Clarke’s was, even with only one grandmother.

Charlie kicks herself over from her front to her back, her newest trick, and Clarke turns her back around to get in some tummy time. She almost doesn’t notice when her wife walks in, decked out in a tight animal print dress. _Almost_ , but she’s never been able to ignore that body.  
  
She eyes her up and down, and Lexa pretends not to notice. Damn. She does have good taste picking clothes.  
  
“Clarke likes what she sees,” Clarke says, in her deepest, roughest voice. “Clarke and Lexa, cave, later tonight?”  
  
Lexa shakes her head.  
  
“You think that's funny?” Lexa asks. Clarke makes grabby hands at her.   
  
“I think I’m hilarious,” she answers.

"That's tragic."  
  
Lexa kneels over her, and they share a quick kiss before Lexa plops down on the floor on her stomach. She scoots up to where Charlie is.  
  
“Hi darling,” Lexa whispers, and Charlie’s eyes follow her. Clarke looks on with delight. Charlie tries to grab at her mommy, but it destabilizes her and she rolls to her side slightly.  
  
“It's okay, we all have trouble with push ups at first,” Lexa says, a hand on their baby’s side supporting her back up. Clarke smiles.  
  
It doesn’t take much prompting to get Lexa to sit for a picture, even when she thinks the plastic bone Clarke pushes into her hair when she curls it is dumb, but it takes a lot of work to get Charlie to sit still.   
  
She’s excited, almost like she knows it’s a holiday and it’s going to be fun, and Clarke can’t wait until she’s older and actually knows what trick or treating is. She can’t wait for her and Lexa to hold her hands and help her walk from house, like Clarke’s parents did when she was younger.  
  
Charlie shakes her head, and the flappy monkey ears keep hitting them both. Clarke laughs more than she should, and when the timer goes off and they finally take the picture, Clarke’s grabbing Charlie’s monkey ear, leaning on Lexa’s shoulder and they’re all smiling, even Charlie, like they’ve never been so happy, like they’ll never be so happy again.


	5. the letter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Charlie tells Lexa in the first chapter that she'll ask for her wish again on Christmas, but that isn't the first Christmas she'll been asking for it. Set a few days before the first flashback we saw of this story.

[December 20, 2024.]

  
She’s packing Charlie’s bag when she finds it.

  
It’s surreal being in her room, because it’s her house -Clarke’s house, now, their old home- but she no longer lives here, hasn’t be up to her daughter’s small purple room in months. She still knows where everything is, it’s not a stranger’s house (maybe that’s the worst part). Abby is downstairs with Charlie, Lexa can hear the muffled sounds coming from the living room, and so she takes a minute to grab the piece of paper beneath her daughter’s pillow, and read it.

 

She sits down in Charlie’s bed, the orange blanket spread over it because even at six Charlie likes making her bed in the mornings (she’s just like Lexa that way).

  
It’s written in black ink, and it’s strange for Lexa, because it suddenly makes her feel like her daughter is a lot older than she is. But the content is purely a child’s words.

 

  
**_Dear Santa_ **

  
**_this year I’m wishing for just one thing._ **

 

  
Lexa’s heart is in her throat in an instant. She has to force her eyes down the page, because she expected it to be a drawing or maybe Charlie’s letter for Santa, but a scant 3 months after she signed the divorce papers what her daughter wants for Christmas makes her eyes burn.

 

  
_**I know I cant wish for my mommy back but maybe this year we can have a real Christmas again** _

  
_**Last year my mommies were sad a lot and fighting. this year all I want is for them to love each other again** _

 

  
Lexa shuts her eyes tightly, refusing the hot tears that beg to leak out. Love was never the problem, it wasn’t. And through all the pain and the heartache and the mistakes she wishes she could take back, the one thing she never meant to do was hurt her daughter. Their daughter. She never meant to take family christmases away and snuggles and breakfasts in school mornings. She never meant for her marriage to fall apart.

  
She never meant for Charlie to get caught in the crossfire, but it's what happened, that's clear as day from the letter she holds in her hands and every night her daughter pleaded for another phone call because she missed one of them.  Charlie is the single greatest thing that's ever happened to Lexa and she can't bear that she's hurting her, that they are both hurting her, but there's nothing they can do about it now.

 

  
_**Pretty please can you make them be together again?** _

  
_**I promise I wont ask for anything else for christmas ever again** _

  
_**thank you and Merry Christmas** _

  
_**Charlie Eloise Griffin-Woods** _

 

  
_**ps. my mommy lives in a diferent place now so I dont know where to leave this** _

 

  
 Lexa smiles through her tears. When Charlie was four they started helping her write her letters to Santa, and she and Clarke told her she only had to leave them beneath her pillow and Santa’s magic would carry it away. She remembers a 5-year old Charlie, adamantly insisting that she could write her letter herself, and leaving the colorful, crayola scribbled, juice stained piece of paper beneath her pillow. She remembers her joy at seeing all the presents she asked for beneath the tree, and some she didn’t ask for, too.

 

Clarke had turned to her and asked if maybe they were spoiling her too much, but Lexa had made a promise to herself when Charlie was born that she’d always give her everything. She’ll fail this year, and is that knowledge that finally makes her hand her head and return the letter to where she found it, half hoping Clarke will read and it will burn her ex-wife as much as it’s scalding Lexa’s insides right now.

  
Charlie has only asked for one thing, and Lexa…it’s the first time Lexa can’t give her daughter something she needs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can find a short little fanvid I made for this scene[here](https://www.patreon.com/posts/8264755) , from back when I was just learning how to edit video. I hope you liked it and thanks for sticking with this story! An update to the original fic coming this wednesday!


	6. Jitters

She puts a little work into herself.

  
She knows that Clarke likes her, and she likes her for what Lexa was when they first met, but…it’s new. Everything with Clarke is exciting and novel and feels like a first drink of champagne fizzling in her stomach. Her trusty leather jacket and her old, worn boots aren’t enough. She dresses well, she knows she does, she irons her clothes and tucks in her shirts, but Lexa has always liked to preen a little, to put some extra work on her appearance when she’s with a new girl. Which honestly hasn't happened since high school.

  
(She cringes at calling Clarke a ‘new girl’, even though that’s what she is, but it’s too soon to call it a new relationship, and just the thought of the word gives Lexa panicky chest palpitations.)

  
So she goes to the salon.

  
The girl there loves her hair, it’s shiny and thick without Lexa having to do much to it, and if she found the brown boring as a child (Lexa has always had a thing for blonde hair, truth be told) she likes it now.

  
She heads there once in a blue moon, when her hair gets so long it’s actually impossible to work with. She let it get down to her waist last time and it was actually ridiculous. It’s gotten long now, but she doesn’t cut it just past her shoulders. She’s noticed how much Clarke likes running her fingers through it the few times they’ve kissed deeply. (She hesitates to call it making out, but soon, she hopes.) So she has them shape it a little, and when the girls suggests dying it, Lexa thinks ‘why not?’

  
The girl promises it’ll be really subtle and it’s all the rage these days and what not, and did Lexa mention she really likes to primp herself up for a girl she really likes?

  
So for the first time in ages she spends more time at the salon than just for a practical cut, and lets the girl do a manicure while they wait for the foil on the tips of her hair to…do something. (She loves candles and scented, glittery body lotions, but not much more than that.)

  
“You like to keep them short, huh?” The blonde woman asks while holding Lexa's hand, expertly removing her cuticles.

  
Lexa snorts.

  
She has them painted white, just for a change. When the woman is done it's time to wash her hair and get it blow dried, and she's actually surprised at how good it looks. Can't help wondering what Clarke will think.

  
“Oh, that came out perfect.”

  
“It goes so nicely with your skin.”

  
Lexa accepts the compliments and represses the urge to text Clarke, because if her girlf- if the girl she's dating asks her for a picture, she'll take it. She's not big on selfies but she bets half of Clarke's phone is filled with them with the amount that Clarke asks for when they're apart.

  
No, Lexa just walks home, praying it doesn't rain, and starts thinking about the upcoming date night.

  
.  
.  
.

 

  
“I like what you did with your hair.”

  
“You noticed.”

  
“Of course I noticed. You always look beautiful, but damn," Clarke tells her. "I’m so lucky."

  
"Gonna put your money where your mouth is and take me to dinner?”

  
"Actually, I’d rather put my mouth on you."

  
They don’t get to the restaurant. But Lexa finally gets to check off ‘making out’ on their list.


	7. helping hand

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Clarke's pov of the 1st anniversary of the miscarriage. You can find Lexa's pov in the original fic.

(August 13th, 2024.)

 

She doesn’t have to call Octavia and Raven.

Her friends are parked outside her house when she gets home from work. She tried to get a second shift, because at least then she wouldn’t be thinking about it, and she knows that her mom would be taking care of Charlie so, but she couldn’t manage it. But her friends are there.

Clarke doesn’t know how she would have gotten through the last few months if it wasn’t for them. 

Octavia and Raven have gotten adept at reading her feelings, at knowing from a single text when she needs to talk, and she’s never been more appreciative of their friendship. She and Raven stood by Octavia while she and Lincoln where going through a rough patch, she and Octavia stood by Raven when she had the accident with her leg, and now they’re both there for her after…after she lost a child and her wife left, all in the span of a few months. They’re not friends anymore as much as their her sisters, and Clarke loves them for it. 

They’re there when she gets home.

Her mom has Charlie for the night, she knows she would never be strong enough to get through the anniversary without crying, and she doesn’t ever want Charlie to see her cry. She made a promise to herself that those days would be over now that Lexa was gone, and ever since she begun to accept that she was gone for good. She gets out of her car and makes her way towards the house.

“Girls night?” Raven asks, half-heartedly waving a bottle of wine in front of herself, and Clarke bubbles up with tears before she can help it.

“Oh, sweetie,” Octavia says, and then there are arms around her, and the warmth of comfort.

 

 

She doesn’t get drunk. 

She has work tomorrow afternoon, and she has to pick up Charlie from her mom’s in the morning, so she doesn’t get drunk. She doesn’t think it would help, either.

But she does let go. She cries, a little over the loss and a lot over Lexa and their failed marriage, and then some more for how empty her house and her chest feel, especially when she's sleeping alone in their large bed. They used to hide under the covers and steal time away for each other, she used to kiss Lexa every morning before work. And all she gets know are tangled sheets when she wakes up from nightmares and faces a reality far worse. 

Her eyes are red and swollen when she's done, only the odd whimper making its way out of her lips. Empathetic tears mar the cheeks of both her friends, and Clarke takes comfort in that. She could never do this alone. She can't understand wanting to. If she hadn't been with...with Lexa, if she hadn't had her friends and mom and her girlfriend by her side, she would have never gotten over her dad passing away. It's why she can't understand why Lexa would-

It’s a few hours after the wine bottle has been drained, and the TV in the background has been forgotten, that she dares to say out loud what’s she’s been thinking about most of the day.

“I can’t stop thinking about Lexa,” she says, her throat raw.

Raven squeezes her arm.

“I…I called her this morning,” Raven says. “Just to see how she was.”

Clarke looks up at her. She hasn’t spoken to Lexa in so long, it’s almost strange thinking that one of her best friends has.

“What did she say?” She asks, sitting up. “How was she?”

Raven shrugs.

“She didn’t answer,” Raven tells her. “I called a few times but…nothing.”

Clarke sighs. 

“I think I should call her,” she says. It’s her wife. She…she knows she’s asked for the divorce papers already, that she’s looked at the forms online and that it’s something she needs to do, but it’s…it’s still Lexa. And she suffered more than anyone on this day a year ago, Clarke should call her.

“Are you sure?” Octavia asks. Clarke smiles sadly, Octavia has been her most staunch defender ever since Lexa decided to leave. She nods. She doesn’t need protection against Lexa. There’s not a single wall the woman hadn’t knocked down in their 10 years together.

“I’m sure.”

She gets up from the couch and walks up to her bedroom, walks away from the comfort of friendship and talking and feeling understood. She takes her phone, take a deep breath, and calls.

Lexa doesn’t answer.


End file.
